


That One Time, When We All Had Sex

by sparepage



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/F, F/M, Multi, Orgy, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparepage/pseuds/sparepage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Krew plays Spin the Bottle. Y'all know what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Time, When We All Had Sex

**i.**

Bolin’s suggestion had been innocent. Wholesome, even.

_Why don’t we go to Narook’s? Their noodles always cheer me up whenever I’m feeling sad._

_Korra doesn’t need noodles_ , Mako had snapped, glaring at his brother. _She needs—_

_Alcohol_ , Asami had supplied, decisively. _She needs alcohol. Narook’s is perfect._

 

**ii.**

Korra’s on her second cup of rice wine when she notices the man four seats down glaring blatantly at Asami.

“What’re _you_ lookin at, punk?” she demands, jutting out her neck and throwing up her arms, starting forward to defend her new friend’s honor.

“ _Oookay_ ,” laughs Mako, gently but firmly intercepting Korra and guiding her back to the group. “I think Korra’s had enough for one night. Why don’t we head back to Air Temple Island?”

“GREAT idea,” Bolin enthuses, swinging an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Let’s take the party back home. This joint’s starting to cramp my style.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mako starts, but it’s a lost cause, because Bolin is already whispering conspiratorially in Asami’s ear.

Whatever he says makes Asami’s lips quirk devilishly. “Let’s do it,” she replies, gracefully sliding off her stool and making a beeline for the barkeep. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, Asami immediately succeeds in engaging the poor, unsuspecting man in conversation.

Meanwhile, Bolin sneaks behind the counter and swipes an unopened bottle from the wine rack.

Mako shoots him a look of disapproval, but says nothing; Korra snorts into her half-empty cup.

“What?” Bolin surreptitiously tucks the bottle beneath the folds of his tunic. “I’ll pay him back. I’ll offer to mop the floors tomorrow, or something.”

Mako rolls his eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Come on, big bro,” Bolin laughs, adrenaline-flushed. “You know Asami would only insist on paying for it, and she’s already put the whole bill on her tab. Plus, Korra’s earned the right to let off some steam. You know, after—after everything.”

“Whatever,” Mako mutters, but he drops the subject, gazing at Asami thoughtfully. Korra’s heart clenches in her chest, an unwelcome reminder that feelings can’t be wished away for the sake of convenience.

Knocking back the remainder of her drink, Korra slips off her barstool and immediately stumbles, veering straight into Bolin.

“Woah there.” He smiles, eyes bright and shining. Korra mentally blames unseasonably warm weather for the uninvited blush that heats her face.

“Hey Asami, time to go!” Mako calls, waving her over. Asami bids farewell to the barkeep, and Team Avatar heads out into the night. 

 

**iii.**

They collapse into a disjointed pinwheel, heads at the center.

“Aww, the wine’s gone!” Bolin whines, turning the bottle upside-down and shaking any straggling droplets into his mouth. “What are we supposed to do with an empty bottle?”

Korra giggles, giving his shoulder a halfhearted punch. “ _Shh!_ You’re gonna get us in trouble!”

“I have an idea.” Asami’s clothes rustle softly as she sits up. “Why don’t we spin it?”

“Huh?” Korra asks, just as Mako issues a very loud, very firm “ _NO._ ” Korra pushes herself off the floor, reeling slightly as the blood drains from her head.

Bolin’s eyes are wide as saucers and his mouth has sagged into a perfect little ‘o’. For the first time all night, he seems to be at a loss for words.

“It’s only harmless fun,” Asami argues. “I didn’t realize you were such a fuddy-duddy, sweetie.”

“I—I’m not a—a _fuddy-duddy_ ,” Mako splutters, beet-red.

"I don't get it." Korra narrows her eyes at the brothers, searching for some explanation as to why their reactions are so extreme. "Why does Bolin look like he just won the lottery?"

" _Because_ ," Mako grits out. "Spin the Bottle is a stupid game that my brother probably wants to play. That's all."

“I like games!” Korra exclaims, inebriation buoying her mood. “What are the rules?"

Asami runs a fingertip along Mako’s leg; Korra absentmindedly tracks its progress from kneecap to upper thigh. “We take turns spinning the bottle on the floor,” she explains. “The spinner has to kiss whoever it lands on.”

Korra had once watched Tenzin’s radio short-circuit during a particularly fearsome lightning storm. The device had seized up in the midst of one of her favorite programs, spitting and spluttering until the audio had cut out completely. Then the cord connecting the radio to the wall had sparked once, twice, three times before exploding in a single, deafening _pop_.

Korra imagines that her brain is currently experiencing a similarly violent death.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” Asami continues smoothly. “All in favor of playing Spin the Bottle?” Asami raises her hand.

Bolin’s hand immediately shoots into the air. He seems to have recovered the ability to speak. “Yes. Yes. This idea is relevant to my interests.”

Asami’s eyes slide over to Korra, and Korra’s pulse flutters like some delicate parchment paper beneath their emerald scrutiny. “Come on, Korra,” Asami encourages, tone laced with anticipation and something darker, something dangerous. “It’ll be fun.”

Were she sober, Korra’s sure that a million misgivings would be clawing their way past her lips. But alcohol is a bullheaded bastard, and there’s really only one possible answer for her to give.

“I’m in.”

“Well then I guess my opinion doesn’t matter,” Mako pouts, crossing his arms.

“Wonderful.” Asami claps her hands together lightly. “Now, let’s set up some ground rules—”

“Number one,” Bolin interjects. “Mako and I don’t have to kiss. Except on the cheek, of course!” he adds, leaning over to give his brother a chaste peck. Mako pulls an expression that’s something between mortified and fond. 

Asami grins. “Fair enough.”

 

**iv.**

Asami spins first, and the bottle lands on Mako.

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Bolin comments, leaning back on his elbows.

Asami smiles at Mako, soft and reassuring: _See? This isn’t so bad, is it?_ Mako smiles back: _No, I guess not._ Their public displays of affection are enough to trigger Korra’s gag reflex, but something bright and clear in her gut longs for their ability to communicate without words. A shared, silent language all their own, born of comfort and affection and intimacy the likes of which Korra’s never known.

Asami leans over and kisses Mako on the lips. She lingers briefly, curling her fingers around his ears, and when she pulls away she gives him that same soft, reassuring smile.

“Two second rule VIOLATION,” Bolin blares through cupped hands, effectively killing the mood. “Mako and Asami, you are hereby ejected from the game. Can’t say we’ll miss you. NEXT!”

Asami giggles behind one hand, and Mako’s cheeks flare. “You’re an embarrassing drunk, Bo,” he grumbles, spinning the bottle almost defiantly.

It lands on Asami.

“ _Seriously?_ ” Korra blurts, because if her brain-to-mouth filter is flimsy when she’s sober, it’s nonexistent now. She immediately regrets her outburst—it’s a delicate armistice, this thing between the three of them, and she would hate to make Asami feel threatened, or Mako uncomfortable. “Er. Sorry.”

Bolin groans, shielding his eyes. “Just get it over with already.”

“Just for those comments…” Asami trails off, grinning wickedly, and when she swings a leg over Mako’s waist and settles in his lap, Korra’s breath catches in her throat.

“What are you doing,” Mako murmurs, gripping Asami’s arms like she’s an anchor and he’s about to get swept out to sea.

“Getting comfortable,” Asami replies.

And then she’s kissing him.

But it’s nothing like the last one.

It’s nothing like any kiss Korra’s ever witnessed.

Asami works her lips against Mako’s in a slow, languid rhythm, coaxing his apart. Their mouths align like puzzle pieces fitting together, and when Mako briefly breaks contact to reposition their lips, Korra catches a glimpse of someone’s wet, pink tongue before Asami reseals the space between their mouths.

Korra realizes too late that she’s staring, that’s she’s practically drooling, and she averts her gaze as quickly as her sluggish reflexes will allow. A pale blob wavers at the periphery of her vision, and she inclines her head to stare at it for few long seconds: Bolin’s hand, splayed flat and propping his body up off the floor. Close enough to touch with her own hand, if she were to extend a finger and brush it against his knuckles.

And for some reason, that realization shoots an unexpected current of electricity up Korra’s spine. She drags her gaze from Bolin’s hand up to his face, meeting his eyes; he feels it too, she knows then, the way the particles in the air seem suddenly charged, gathering and pulsating in the minimal space between their bodies. _We’ll have to do that, too_ , she thinks, heart leaping into her throat.

Bolin breaks eye contact, a faint flush spreading across his cheeks, and maybe if Korra were sober she’d have the presence of mind to put an end to this now. She returns her attention to Mako and Asami, words of discouragement teetering at the tip of her tongue—

And then… Asami _undulates_. Just once, slow and sinuous against Mako’s hips, and Mako…

Mako _moans_.

And Korra knows that if someone’s going to put an end to this insanity, it sure as hell won’t be her. 

Gracefully, Asami extracts her limbs from Mako’s and returns to her seat on the floor. “Oh,” Bolin says, and if Korra’s brain could form actual thoughts it would be silently congratulating him on coming up with any word for this situation at all.

Mako looks hopelessly dazed, eyes half-lidded and glossy, lips swollen and panting and lipstick-smeared.

Asami merely smirks as she leans forward and spins the bottle.

It lands on Korra.

“HAHA!” Korra yelps, scrambling to twist her expression into one of aloof amusement. “Can’t—can’t have two girls kissing. How ridiculous would that be? Haha!” she repeats, because they’re all staring at her and the room is starting to feel really cramped and hot and it’s making her disturbingly dizzy. “Er. Re-spin?”

Asami quirks an elegantly sculpted brow. “Don’t be silly. Two girls can kiss.”

“I agree with Asami,” Bolin contributes, uselessly. 

“I don’t—” Korra starts, but Asami is already crawling across their makeshift circle.

“Don’t worry,” she murmurs, settling herself in front of Korra. “It’s just a kiss. It doesn’t mean anything.”

For some reason, Asami glances at Bolin when she says that. If there’s meaning behind the spasm of guilt that contorts Bolin’s features, Korra’s wine-soaked brain fails to interpret it.

Asami’s lips are exquisite, delicate peaks and valleys emphasized by plum-red lipstick, and Korra finds herself utterly mesmerized. “Please, Korra,” Asami implores, low and husky, and how does her breath smell so sweet and flowery when Korra’s positive that her own reeks of alcohol and noodles? 

Korra gulps. Nods, once.

Asami’s dark curls fall around them like a curtain, blocking out the lamplight. Korra feels her eyelids flutter shut, hears her own breath coming in harsh, stuttered pants.

The kiss is neat and chaste, smelling of jasmine and white tea perfume. Their lips part with a soft _smack_ , and Asami smiles. “See? That wasn’t so— _mph!_ ”

Korra grabs the back of Asami’s neck and captures the other girl’s lips with her own, oblivious to the incoherent male splutters that erupt in the background. Korra hates to be afraid, hates herself when she’s shy and self-conscious and nervous, and so she kisses Asami like it was her idea in the first place, trading vulnerability for aggression. 

Korra finds Asami’s tongue with her own, silently praying that enthusiasm makes up for inexperience. Asami doesn’t seem to mind, anyway; surprised, breathy sounds escape her lips every time Korra brushes her tongue against the other girl’s, and Korra finds that she likes those sounds more than she ever expected to. A _lot_ more….

When Korra pulls away, Asami scrapes her fingernails against Korra’s arms. Something deep and hot in Korra’s belly churns as she drinks in the sight of Asami’s lips, glistening wet and parted.

“Two seconds… violation of the… rule…” Bolin squeaks.

Under normal circumstances, the looks on the brothers’ faces would have made Korra burst into hysterical peals laughter. Mako’s eyes appear to be bugging out of their sockets, and Bolin’s got actual drool running down his chin. Korra would laugh, should laugh… but she can’t find anything funny about this situation, not when everything feels so heavy with discovery and consequence.

“I’ll just… I’ll just go, then,” she mumbles, fumbling at the bottle with a shaky hand.

It lands on Bolin.

Korra takes the initiative this time, no holds barred. She turns to Bolin, still bug-eyed at her side, and plants a single, firm kiss on his slackened lips.

“This is,” Bolin states, “the best game _ever_.”

Korra _does_ crack a smile at that. Bolin’s always had the ability to make things seem a little less doom-and-gloom, and she loves him for it.

“OK,” Bolin grins, rubbing his hands together. “My turn.”

The bottle drags to a halt at Asami’s feet.

Bolin has the good grace to look embarrassed, immediately locking eyes with his brother. “You sure you’re cool with this?”

“I’m cool with it,” Asami interjects, raising a hand.

“Thank you, we’re aware of that,” Mako mutters, rolling his eyes, but reluctant approval permeates his tone and Bolin’s lips spread into a lopsided grin. 

Asami turns to Bolin and gives him a quick peck on the lips. Bolin lets out a theatrical sigh, pinning the back of his hand to his forehead and slumping to the floor. Asami giggles.

“Two kisses from my two favorite ladies. Life does not get much better than this.” The difference, Korra thinks, between Bolin and almost every other guy she’s ever met is that he actually _means_ the ridiculously cheesy stuff he says, and as he pushes himself back into a sitting position, eyes shining earnestly, Korra finds herself hoping that Bolin’s next spin lands on her.

The atmosphere feels far less tense as Asami takes up the bottle and gives it another spin. _This isn’t so bad_ , Korra thinks, giddy anticipation building in her gut. _Nothing but a few harmless kisses. What was I so afraid of?_

When Asami’s spin lands on Bolin, inciting a re-appearance of the wicked grin she’d worn just before her second kiss with Mako, Korra wonders if she might have thought too soon.

Asami sidles up to the younger boy. “How many girls have you made out with?” she asks, gazing up at him through long, painted lashes. 

Bolin gulps, fresh out of blithe jokes and come-ons. “Um. Not too many?”

“That’s a lie,” purrs Asami, tone dipping, and Korra feels goosepimples erupt on her arms. “You’re a popular guy, Bolin. I’ve heard stories… and I’m curious to see if they’re true.”

Bolin casts one final, helpless glance at his brother before Asami closes in, molding her lips against his. He freezes up for a moment, hands raised in stunned supplication, but then Asami slides her arms around his neck and the tension slips from his limbs.

Bolin’s hands come up to cradle her face, and Korra finds herself perversely fascinated by the contrast of his huge palm against Asami’s delicate jaw line. He tilts his head to the side, leaning in, and Asami lets out a throaty groan as he flicks his tongue inside her mouth, tasting, teasing, then back out again almost lazily.

OK, now Korra _really_ hopes that Bolin’s next spin lands on her.

The soft, slick sounds of tongue sliding against tongue, lips catching and pressing and Asami’s desperate, guttural moans seem to reverberate around the room, magnified by the night’s silence. Bolin runs his fingertips down the length of her neck, feather-light and laden with subtle suggestion. When he pulls away, Asami is breathless and visibly trembling.

No one says a word as Bolin gives the bottle another spin, and Korra draws in a deep, unsteady breath, willing her heartbeat to calm.

Bolin’s never had a good poker face, and the confluence of emotion that screws up his expression when the bottle lands on Korra fractures her heart a little. Images dart across her mind’s eye like a film reel, cupcakes and flowers and a kiss that never should have happened, and she can’t suppress the wave of guilt that washes over her. Because she wants this, now, so why didn’t she want it then? _I shouldn’t do be doing this_ , Korra panics, _it isn’t fair…_

It’s selfishness, then, that drags her lips up to meet Bolin’s, a hedonistic desire that has nothing to do with rational thought and everything to do with the way Bolin made Asami moan earlier. His lips are soft but sure, steadier than she expected them to be and gently assertive. He grips the back of her neck, stroking a finger against the baby hairs at the base of her ponytail, making Korra shudder.

Everything about the way Bolin kisses is agonizingly slow, calculated, practically dripping with promise. _Tease_ , Korra thinks, petulantly, and she bites down on his bottom lip, hoping to strip away some of that maddening self-control. Bolin merely grins against her mouth, flicking that warm, wet tongue of his against hers. Korra feels it in her toes.

He places one more gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth before drawing back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Korra reaches blindly, frantically for the bottle, desperate for the release that Bolin’s leisurely caresses denied her.

When the bottle lands on Mako, Korra’s heart threatens to explode straight through her ribcage.

Mako leans forward; tall as he is, Korra has to tilt her head up to meet his gaze even though they’re both sitting. His eyes rove over her face, like he’s seeing her for the first time, and she feels her lips part involuntarily. She knows how transparent she must look, all that depthless want and unbridled need spilling out of her like blood from an ugly, gaping wound. Will they even know what to do with themselves, without the restraint? Without the guilt? It had been so, so exhausting, and Korra knows she doesn’t deserve this absolution. She knows that, but she’s sure as hell not going to pass it up. 

Mako huffs an apprehensive breath, and Korra feels it ghost over her lips. He’s a hair’s breadth away from touching her. He smells of aftershave, of the alcohol clinging to his skin and clothes. His bottom lip, she notices, is slightly chapped.

“Do it,” Asami whispers, and that’s all the motivation they need.

Mako crushes his mouth against hers, open and messy and utterly shameless. There’s no buildup, no slow burn—just his tongue along the roof of her mouth and his fingers in her hair, tugging and clutching like he’s a dying man and she’s his salvation. Korra’s head is spinning and her hands are trembling against Mako’s neck and she feels so overheated, so lit from within, and she just wants to twine Mako’s body around hers until they’re both made molten, until they burn down the night.

Mako yanks her onto his lap in one swift, unruly motion. The change wakes Korra up a bit, and she nips at his bottom lip, a low growl bubbling in the back of her throat. Instinct screams at her to up the ante, to reach her hands beneath his jacket or grind her hips against his or tilt her head back to let him rake his teeth across the sensitive skin of her neck.

But before she can settle on any of these options, Mako pulls back, staring at her with wide, wild eyes. Their ragged gasps mingle and for a moment, Korra doesn’t notice anything because she’s so far gone.

But then Mako shifts his hips, just slightly, and Korra feels something hard and thick brush up against her thigh. Mako’ eyelids flutter involuntarily. Heat blossoms in the space between Korra’s legs.

Summoning the bulk of her self-control, she forces herself to break eye contact with Mako and glance over his shoulder. Asami’s pupils are almost comically blown, and her lips glisten like she just finished licking them.

“What do you say we move this to the bed?” she suggests.

 

**v.**

It’s totally weird, at first, and Korra vaguely wonders how weird it would be if alcohol _weren’t_ involved before Asami silences her inner monologue with a kiss.

It’s different than their last one, less frenzied, and Korra revels in the taste of Asami’s tongue, the slick slip of it against her own. Wide, strong hands come up behind her, encircling her waist. Korra moans into Asami’s mouth as the intruder sucks on the exposed skin of her shoulder.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he murmurs, hot breath shooting tingles down her arm. It’s Bolin—she should have known, given the distinctive breadth of his chest against her back, but everything is so hazy and muddled and running together like wet paint mixed with too much water, and Korra’s too far gone to care who’s touching her, so long as she’s being touched.

Mako hovers awkwardly next to Asami, and Korra breaks away from the other girl to catch his eye. Asami takes the opportunity to run her fingers down the length of his jacket. 

“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” she admonishes. “I think it’s time we all got a little more comfortable.” Asami’s deft fingers make quick work of Mako’s jacket, unfastening its red notches and untying the black sash at his waist with practiced ease. She removes his scarf before smoothing the jacket off his shoulders, leaving him clad in nothing but a white undershirt and slacks.

Through it all, Mako never takes his eyes off Korra. Gaze trailing down, Korra spies the telltale tent in his pants and the heat between her legs throbs almost painfully.

Asami unbuttons her own outer garments, shrugging them off and tossing them aside. Bolin’s breath catches at the sight of Asami in nothing but a flimsy, cream-colored camisole and matching panties, and Korra leans back into his body, brushing her ass against his crotch. He’s hard already, and he hisses in her ear, gripping her hipbones tightly. Maybe she’ll be able to strip away that infuriating self-control of his, after all. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Mako murmurs, wrapping Asami up in his arms. Asami smiles softly before meeting his lips with her own, tangling her hands in his hair and pressing her body flush against his.

Mako’s hands slip down to cup her ass, and the heat between Korra’s legs throbs again, desperate for attention. She grabs one of Bolin’s hands and guides it to her breast, rocking back against him to emphasize her request.

Bolin’s thumb against her nipple feels better than anything she’s ever done to herself, sending jolt after jolt of pleasure straight to her core.

“More,” she mumbles, arching back against him, and Bolin sucks in a deep breath.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, pinching her nipple gently. “Anything. Ask me for anything and it’s yours. You know I’m yours.”

Korra lets out a strangled moan at that, spinning around in Bolin’s arms and backing him up toward the bed. He drops down onto the minimal cushioning and Korra wastes no time in straddling his lap, bringing their mouths together messily.

Mako’s hoarse cry tears Korra’s attention away from Bolin, and she whips her head around to find Asami’s hand down the front of his slacks. Korra feels like she’s hurtling toward the brink of some great, uncharted precipice; watching Mako buckle beneath Asami’s expert touch, boneless and wanton, she discovers that she can’t wait to fling herself over the edge. 

Returning her attention to the matter at hand, Korra grapples with the sash at Bolin’s hips. After a few unsuccessful attempts at untying it—dexterity was never her strong suit, and Bolin ultimately has to intervene—Korra yanks the troublesome tunic away from his body, devouring his bare, broad shoulders with her eyes.

“I want you,” she hears herself groan, and Bolin responds by dragging her shirt up and over her head. She lets her gaze drift back to Mako and Asami as Bolin hastens to undo her bindings; Asami catches her looking, and shoots her a cheeky grin.

“Follow me,” she breathes into Mako’s ear, and Mako trails behind her helplessly as she sinks down onto the bed, next to Bolin. Up close like this, Korra can see the head of Mako’s cock peaking through the gap at the front of his trousers. 

Korra can’t help but stare as Asami continues to pump Mako’s cock from her position on the bed. Mako stands before her, head thrown back. Korra feels her mouth slacken as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing enticingly. She wants to bite it.

“ _Oooh_ ,” she moans, because Bolin’s gotten her bindings off and he’s taken a newly exposed nipple between his teeth, laving his tongue over it again and again like he has all the time in the world. Asami reaches over to take up Korra’s wrist, guides it toward the gap in Mako’s slacks, and Korra encircles his prick with her hand, vaguely surprised by the silky hardness of it.

Running on instinct, Korra begins to slowly jack Mako off, relishing the way his whole body jerks whenever her fist slides over the head. “Korra,” Mako groans, and she lets out a similarly depraved sound as Bolin’s hand creeps down to the space between her legs, dipping below the waistband of her pants and _finally_ touching her where she needs it most. “Korra, I’m gonna—you have to stop or I’m gonna—”

Korra lets out a high-pitched keen as Bolin’s thick fingers continue to stroke her sex, and she’d be perfectly happy to jerk Mako off to completion if Asami didn’t choose that moment to still Korra’s hand.

Mako opens his eyes for the first time in minutes, and Korra thinks that if she could come from visual stimulation alone, the expression on Mako’s face would do the trick. He’s so fucking gorgeous like this, bottom lip red and swollen where he’d been biting it, golden eyes turned black with arousal, hair tousled in a way that makes Korra fantasize about pulling it.

“I want you to fuck Korra,” Asami tells Mako, and Korra’s certain that she’s never heard anything hotter than Asami’s refined, husky voice saying that word. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Oh, fuck,” Mako moans, closing his eyes again and nodding frantically. “Yeah, fuck yes…”

Korra practically leaps out of Bolin’s lap, shrugging off her remaining articles of clothing and crushing Mako’s lips against her own. His cock bumps insistently against her hip, smearing a line of fluid there, and he lifts her clean off the floor and deposits her at the head of the bed.

Mako pulls off his slacks and kneels over her, and Korra fumbles for his hips, dragging them down.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, holding her face in his hands as he lightly kisses her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her lips, her forehead. Korra’s eyelids flutter shut. _It’s almost too much_ , she thinks, feeling a lump rise in her throat.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he murmurs, nuzzling her neck as his fingers caress her aching sex.

Korra nods, because she’s never been more ready for anything in her entire life.

Mako positions himself at her entrance, and in that moment, nothing else exists except the way his eyes seemed to look _inside_ of her, and she feels so exposed, so raw and needy and desperate and every ounce of her yearns for him. He pushes inside, slow and steady, and she feels the barrier deep within her break. It hurts, but not like she expected it to, and Korra wonders if she has the alcohol or her own preparative efforts to thank for that. Still, she can’t stop the small wince of discomfort from contorting her features, and Mako pauses, resting his forehead against hers.

“Did that hurt?” he asks

“A little,” Korra admits. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

Mako chuckles shakily. “You have no idea how much I—” his voice drops to a whisper, and Korra knows he means for only her to hear. “—How much I wanted this… Spirits, Korra, it’s been so hard…”

Korra silences him with a kiss. Rolls her hips, tentatively, urging him to continue.

Mako thrusts shallowly, obviously still concerned about her comfort. Korra wiggles a bit beneath him, seeking the preferred angle, and a particularly ambitious realignment sinks Mako deeper than he’s ever been. Korra lets out a sharp, involuntary cry, and Mako moans low and long, eyes screwed up in pleasure.

He picks up the pace, pinning Korra’s limbs in place and hitting that sensitive spot deep within her over and over again.

“ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” comes someone’s obscene groan off to the side, and Korra turns her head just in time to watch Bolin sink all the way inside Asami. Korra had almost forgotten they were there, but they’re impossible to ignore now; Bolin’s got Asami on all fours, perpendicular to Korra and Mako, Asami bracing herself on the side of the bed as Bolin fucks her from behind.

Asami’s eyelids flutter open, and when she discovers Korra staring she cranes her neck just a little bit further and licks Korra’s lips apart, immediately tangling their tongues together in some delectable recreation of what’s happening below.

Korra moans into Asami’s mouth, not caring when the boys’ thrusts mess up their rhythm. Asami shifts the entirety of her weight onto her right hand, trailing her left down Korra’s stomach.

“Oh, woah,” Mako breathes as Asami’s long, elegant fingers begin to tease Korra’s clit. Korra _screams_ at the contact, thrashing her head back and forth like a woman possessed, and she feels herself finally, _finally_ teetering over the edge, Mako’s cock stuffing her to the hilt over and over again, Asami’s clever fingers knowing just how fast to stroke and where.

Her orgasm hits her like a firestorm gone wild, flames licking up her entire body, consuming her from the inside out. Distantly, Korra registers her own hysterical sobs, feels her cunt spasm around Mako length for what seems like an eternity. 

Mako goes rigid, suddenly, cock stilling at its deepest point. “Ah—Korra!” he moans, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

Mako collapses, and Korra could care less about the sheen of sweat his skin imparts onto her own. _Everything is right with the world_ , she thinks dreamily, stroking his back with tingling fingertips as their breathing returns to normal.

Next to them, Asami bucks back wildly against Bolin, breasts bouncing as he picks up his pace to meet her insatiable demands. “Harder, _harder_ ,” she demands, and Bolin delivers, those glorious biceps of his tensing and flexing as he slams himself into Asami over and over again. 

“ _Yeeeesss_ ,” Asami moans, “yes, yes, I’m getting so close… don’t stop!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bolin yelps as Asami reaches between her own legs, and suddenly Bolin’s hands stutter at Asami’s hips. His forehead screws up in ecstasy and he gives one final, jerky thrust before slipping out of Asami, cock dripping wet and glistening in the lamplight.

“Turn over,” he commands, and Asami readily complies, positioning herself at the edge of the bed. Bolin pushes her legs apart and buries his mouth in her cunt. Korra can’t see too much from this angle, but the wet, sloppy sounds of Bolin’s eager tongue tell her all she needs to know, and not ten seconds pass before Asami’s neck goes limp and her eyes roll into the back of her head, knuckles turning white as she squeezes fistfuls of bedsheets. 

The room goes blissfully silent save for their fluttered, depleted sighs. Korra lets her eyelids fall shut, basking in the afterglow.

“I wish this bed were big enough for all four of us,” she babbles, sleepily.

“Mmm,” Mako agrees, smiling into the crook of her neck as Asami and Bolin curl up against her free side. “I think we can make it work.”

**Author's Note:**

> I… cannot believe that I actually wrote this. Apparently I’m a much bigger prude than I thought, because this fic was really, really difficult for me to finish and I’m currently having an actual conniption at the thought of anyone else reading it! Ajsdankdlasmdas oh god WHY. WHYYYYYY


End file.
